


coda

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Suicidal Thoughts, but no one dies I promise, lightly dubious use of regeneration energy, rated M for semi-graphic violence and Almost Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25971265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: Ever since escaping from prison, the Doctor has been chasing a ghost. Today, in the wreckage of an exploded ship in dead space, that ghost proves to be more real than she could have hoped for.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49
Collections: Thoschei Prompt Exchange 2020





	coda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FictionPenned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/gifts).



The wreck of the HMS Queen Charlotte is a sight to behold. Tonnes and tonnes of melted, twisted steel, drifting in the empty void of space. Shards of glass sparkle everywhere, their brilliance on par with the stars in the far distance. 

It would be beautiful, the Doctor thinks, if not for the bodies. 

She tugs her sleeve over her hand, brushing aside a flotilla of broken plates. Her TARDIS drifts through the wreckage, searching for survivors, and she hangs out of the doorway, looking for one survivor in particular. He should be here, unless she’s landed in the wrong place yet _again_. 

It’s been a few weeks since she broke out of prison. The responsible thing to do would be to find her companions, the Doctor knows that. She owes them all apologies. She probably owes Yaz a hug, even though touch always makes her want to scratch her skin off. She’d hurt the poor girl, back on Gallifrey, so she should be able to bear a little discomfort to make her feel better. That would be the Doctor-y thing to do. 

Instead, she’s spent her time chasing a ghost. The Master ought to be dead, but he never dies when he’s supposed to. She loves that about him, always has. 

Ugh. The Doctor swats angrily at a dented steel oxygen tank, sending it spinning away through space. He’s made his position clear; there’s no room for love between them anymore. Just _rage and pain_ , as he’d so coldly told her. 

The oxygen tank thuds against a chunk of the ship’s hull, sending that drifting aside and revealing more bodies mangled by exposure to the vacuum of space. She looks away. Death is still never easy to see, and she doesn’t _want_ it to be easy. 

_There_. A flash of purple, behind the wreckage of several bunk beds. An absolutely hateful sort of hope flares in her chest, and the Doctor steers her ship over towards the flash. It’s a coat- _his_ coat. 

Empty. 

The hope dies again. She slumps down in the doorway of her ship, pulling the coat on board and running her hand over the fabric. It’s still soft, but _cold_ , and she pulls the garment into her lap with a sigh. 

He was here. Apparently he’s not now. 

It’s been like this for weeks. Place after place, time after time- she’ll pick up a trace of the Master at the site of some horrific event, drag her unwilling TARDIS there to find him, and be rewarded with nothing. Maybe a sighting, if she drills some bloodied survivor for information as she drags them to safety. Or a coat, apparently. At least a coat is something _physical_. 

The Doctor presses her face against it, squeezing her eyes shut. She’s so tired of this. Chasing him. Presumably he’s causing these disasters, but- _why_? 

Why does he do _anything_? Mindless chaos. Trying to get her attention. He’s got it, he’s always had it, but he insists on this game anyway. Fuck him, and fuck _this_ , she thinks, utterly miserable. 

The coat still smells of him, of ash and smoke, cinnamon and honey. Acrid but sweet, intoxicating. Comforting. 

Maybe she should give up. Running is more tiring than it’s ever been before. She’s running from the Judoon, from her companions, from her past- the vast, aching maw that is her past is so terrifying that she dare not think about it too hard. It would be easier to curl up on the floor and rest, wait for someone to find her and take her back to prison. 

Something bumps against the side of the TARDIS. Probably another dead body, she thinks, cracking an eye open to look at it. 

Her blood turns to ice. 

The Master’s form is floating past the door- twisted like he was in agony, but perfectly still. His eyes are open and bloodshot, his face looks more _grey_ than anything else. 

The Doctor scrambles to her feet, dragging him inside and almost stumbling under his weight as he falls into her arms when gravity kicks in. 

“Koschei?” For just a moment, she’s a scared child, gazing down at her best friend’s body. And then Doctor mode kicks in, and she lays him on the floor, darting to her console. 

“Full diagnostic. Now,” she orders, pulling a lever that’s actually a handbrake, but her TARDIS understands the urgency and runs the program anyway. 

Miraculously, he’s not dead. But _alive_ might be too generous of a word. The readout is alarmingly red, and dipping lower towards the flat black that means he’s gone. 

“What can I do? There’s got to be something,” she insists, and the TARDIS screen blinks at her a few times, and provides nothing. The Doctor feels a nudge at the back of her mind, her ship trying to be sympathetic, telling her that he’s too far gone. Past even the point of regeneration. 

Every second spent panicking is a second wasted, so the Doctor doesn’t allow herself that luxury. Maybe he can’t regenerate. But...but, _oh_ , there’s an idea- she can, as many times as she likes, according to what he told her back on Gallifrey. It’s got to be worth a try. 

It’s an oddly scary idea. Since the Matrix, the mere thought of regenerating has flickers of fear curling in her stomach, the visuals of a child- of _herself_ \- being forced into rebirth again and again haunting her constantly. 

There’s no room for fear, though. Not _now_. 

She drops to her knees at his side, jamming her hands over his hearts and pouring golden sparks into his body. It feels awful, like her own life is being drained away, but it’s not. She knows it’s not. At least, she hopes it isn’t. 

For a full minute, she kneels there and gives him everything she has, willing him to live with every ounce of her being. What this will do to him, she has no idea. Whether he’ll regenerate, whether he’ll wake up completely fine, whether it won’t have any effect at all- she doesn’t know, and she hates that, but she has to keep trying. 

The pain is so, so much. Too much to bear. The Doctor gives him every last spark, until the flow of gold peters out to barely a trickle. With a dizzying, gut-wrenching scream, she forces out more- one last rush of light that hovers above his skin for a moment, and sinks in. 

Her vision is already flickering, fading, her head spinning horribly. She can barely focus, and yet she swears that before she slips away entirely, she sees the Master’s body jolt, and suck in a breath of air. 

——

_She dreams of stumbling backwards off the edge of a cliff, of a laboratory, of a police station in Ireland, of a dark-haired boy with blue eyes older than the rest of his face, taking her hand and grinning mischievously, like the two of them share a secret that’s more important than anything else_. 

The Doctor wakes with a start, and immediately throws out a hand next to her. The Master isn’t there. 

_She did it_. 

She sits up, and finds him by the door, staring out at the shipwreck. He hasn’t regenerated, hasn’t changed one bit, except that he’s no longer grey. For once, it looks like things have worked out the way that she wanted them to. It’s...it’s almost unbelievable. Too good to be true. What’s wrong?

“Your ship won’t let me leave,” he says, not looking at her. 

“Sorry,” she says instinctively, well-used to apologising for her TARDIS’ capricious nature. Then she frowns. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. “Wait, no I’m not. Leave? Leave where?” 

The Master says nothing. He reaches out, catching hold of a chunk of melted metal that’s been re-solidified in space. He stares at it, runs his thumb over a sharp edge, and then tosses it back out into the void. 

“How do you feel?” The Doctor stands, grimacing at the way her head spins. Her hasty theory was right, though- she can feel a fresh new tank of regeneration energy fizzing away inside of her, ready to explode at a moment’s notice. That should be comforting knowledge, but instead it just fills her with an uncomfortable sort of dread. Some part of her had been hoping that the Master was wrong, that she wasn’t the Timeless Child after all. But no normal Time Lord would be able to heal someone like that, and be ready to do it again without several days of bed rest afterwards. 

“Like I almost died in space,” the Master says flatly. “I would have died, Doctor. Why save me?” 

She blinks. What sort of a question is _that_? 

“Because- well, I-“ She leans back against the console, her mind scrambling for a reason that’s not ‘because I love you’. “You’re not allowed to die on me. Illegal. You should know that by now.” 

Apparently a joke was the wrong way to go. The Master wheels around, his teeth bared, fury glinting in those huge, sad eyes. It feels like the TARDIS is ten degrees hotter all of a sudden, just from the intensity of his gaze. 

“Oh,” he spits. “Well. Terribly sorry for trying to die on you without your permission, _love_.” 

Only he could make a pet name sound like such an insult. The Doctor stares dully at him, exhausted by their fighting, and then something about his words snags on the back of her mind. 

“Trying?” She straightens up, suddenly nervous. “What d’you mean, _trying_ to die?” 

The extra heat leaves the room abruptly. The Master turns back towards the shipwreck, and he shifts slightly. The open doors of her TARDIS twitch, like they’re going to slam shut on him. 

“I’m not going to try and jump,” he snaps, glaring up at the ceiling. “We’ve already established that you won’t let me do that. _Stop_ threatening me.” 

There’s a wealth of information in that exchange. The Master had tried to jump out of her ship whilst she was still asleep. Her TARDIS, who _hated_ him and had been trying to stop her from searching for him for weeks, had refused to let him. 

And perhaps most horribly of all, the Master apparently wanted to jump out of her ship and back into the cold vacuum of space, where he’d almost _died_. 

It’s some protective instinct left over from her childhood that makes the Doctor walk over to him and plop herself down in the doorway, her shoulder bumping lightly against his. Touching him has never hurt like touching other people. She doesn’t want to think too hard about why, just in case the spell wears off and she can’t do it anymore. 

“What are you doing, Kosch?” Her voice is gentle. The Doctor realises with a start that she sounds more like herself than she has done in...months, maybe. Being the Doctor has been so _difficult_ , so tiring, but the Master makes it easy in ways that he probably shouldn’t. Caring about him is the most natural thing in the universe. 

For a long time, he’s quiet. Together, they watch a few more bodies drift past, and a shoal of tin cans and forks and spoons, followed by a few huge chunks of cellophane-wrapped meat that could be giant squid, maybe, chasing after the can-fish. A body in a chef’s hat drifts past, somewhat ruining the pleasant underwater metaphor- they both look away, and find themselves looking at each other instead. 

The Doctor is tempted to shift her gaze, but she can’t. It’s not like the Master is trying to hypnotise her, but his eyes hold her mesmerised anyway. They’re so deeply sad, without the usual manic fire that she’s used to seeing in them. 

“I’m tired, Doctor.” For once, there’s no anger in his tone, just exhaustion. Oh, she knows how that feels. “You. It was always you, you, _you_. Trying to get your attention. Making plans for you. But you-“ His face twists. “You think I’m not even worth being dirt under your shoe. I’ve got nothing left to live for. Why not just- _die_? Got no planet. No _you_. Nothing else matters.” 

Oh. Fuck. She’s really fucked him up this time. For a minute, the Doctor stares, speechless, and lets a new, heavy cloak of guilt settle around her shoulders. Because of her, the Master thinks he’s better off dead. That’s her fault. Her problem. 

“I don’t want you to die,” she says weakly, and the Master snorts like he doesn’t believe her. “Really! I don’t! I was- I was so _angry_ back on Gallifrey, I didn’t mean what I said to you.” 

“Perhaps you should have _thought_ about that, before you had me _beg you to kill us both_!” His sentence starts off terrifyingly calm, but by the end of it, he’s in her face, scowling, his expression angry and twisted. 

“I didn’t do that!” The Doctor can’t help it; she snaps back. “You did that! That was on _you_. The- the things I said. That was awful. Shouldn’t have said any of them. But _you_ tried to make me kill us.” 

The Master growls, reaches up like he’s going to try and shove her, and then thinks better of it. His hands drop back to his sides, and his body droops like he’s a marionette that’s just had its strings cut. 

“Never used to want to die,” he says quietly. “I’d do anything to live. Just to see you again, for the thrill of conquering a planet, I- there was so much to live for.” He sighs, gazing down at his feet, still dangling out of the door. “You ruined me. The Vault- I still feel _guilty_. I hate it. And then there’s the Timeless _fucking_ Child, Doctor, and I can’t- how could I ever match up to you? You _made_ me. And that’s- that’s ruined me.” 

The Doctor drops her head against his shoulder, sighing. The TARDIS is drifting towards the front of the wrecked ship; it looks like an old Earth cruise liner, even though it’s a naval spacecraft. Humans always got so tangled up about their own history. 

“All these disasters I’ve been pinging you at,” she says. “You’ve been visiting them. You haven’t been causing them.” 

The Master nods his head, and doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. What happened out here is more than enough for the Doctor to know what he’s been trying to do, and she knows she can’t let it ever happen again. Next time, she might be five minutes later, and he might be gone. 

She has distant memories of encountering an unknown future incarnation said to be her thirteenth. The Valeyard. If the Master died because of her negligence, the pain she’d unleash on the universe would make the Valeyard look as cute and cuddly as a baby Adipose. 

“I can’t let you leave,” the Doctor says softly. 

“I never thought you cared,” the Master quips. It’s probably an attempt at a joke, but it stings anyway. The Doctor is awful with words this time, she can never find the right ones. But she can try, for him. 

“‘Course I care. You’re my best friend. I mean, you’re also my best _enemy_ , but that’s- doesn’t matter. Not important. Y’know what’s important, to me? You. Been _stupid_ to not realise how much. This time around, I didn’t- I barely even felt like myself, until you showed up. I was so _relieved_ , up on that plane, and I mean- I hated myself for it, but I was. I was glad you were alive. And I want you to keep being alive, Koschei. Please. Tell me you’ll stay.” 

If he didn’t want to stay, the Doctor thought she might well force him to. There was always a side of her that had been willing to do it. She’d threatened it, when he’d been Prime Minister. She’d _done_ it, when he’d been Missy. And she’d do it again, when things were this serious. But she didn’t want to. Last time had taught her that it never ended well. 

“I’ll stay,” the Master says, and she sighs in relief. Despite herself, despite the way hugs usually make her cringe, she wraps her arms around his torso, and she feels him relax just a little. 

“Thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “Oh! Oh, I’ve got a lot to catch you up on, Kosch.” She lifts her head, jumping away from him and springing to her feet. “I’m a fugitive from the law now. A proper one.” 

“Really?” The Master tries to stand, and a grimace crosses his face. The Doctor offers him a hand, and he takes it gratefully and hauls himself up to his feet. “Think you could tell me about it from somewhere with a bed?” 

She smiles and nods, pulling him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. Partially to keep him upright. Partially because she wants to. He’s fragile right now, mentally and physically, and in some ways so is she. 

They can heal together, the Doctor thinks. They’ve got all the time in the world. 


End file.
